Shy Child
Posted by Danielle Bean in Family on Tuesday, August 05, 2008 11:24 AM
We spent this morning at a nearby library. In order to save gas, I’ve been hanging out there instead of going home between dropping off Kateri and picking her up at the barn where she works.
It’s a very nice library—they were even having a story hour this morning. I thought 5-year-old Gabby would be thrilled. I pushed her toward the stacks of carpet sample mats, the pile of coloring pages with fat crayons, and the nice lady holding a guitar case.
No go.
When the story lady asked her name, my garrulous girl fell silent. Story Lady pressed a bit until my daughter finally croaked out “Gabby” without taking her eyes off of the green carpet.
“That’s a beautiful name!” Story Lady beamed as Gabby made a beeline for the chair where I was seated.
As more kids began to arrive and claim their places on the mats, Gabby became more convinced than ever that this child-centered event was not her cup of tea.
I remember being a shy child. I remember the pain of wanting to participate in something and yet feeling socially incapable of doing so. I remember the pain of thinking that the ease of socializing that seemed to come so naturally to other kids would never come to me.
I want to spare my daughter that kind of pain. When I suggested she try sitting with the kids for just a few minutes before rejecting it, though, her eyes grew wider than ever.
“I don’t want to,” she insisted.
Okay. We gathered a stack of picture books instead and she sat quietly perusing them at a table while a gang of preschoolers sang and played in the front room without her.
As much as I remember the pain of being shy, I also remember deciding (at rather a young age—8 or 9 perhaps?) that shyness was a handicap. I remember telling my mother that I was “giving up” being shy. And I remember the difficulty of doing so.
I still prefer small group communications and I still struggle with balancing my inner introvert and situations that demand that I put aside my personal preferences. More often than not, though, I do find that balance.
I want to get Gabby there, but I know it’s not up to me to get her there. I can give her opportunities to work on socializing and I can cheer her when she succeeds, but I can’t do it for her. That’s her job.
I can only push. I can only suggest. I can only encourage. I can only be the waiting arms of comfort when she tries sometimes and fails.
And this, it occurs to me, is one of the toughest parts of parenting. The letting go and the quiet cheering without becoming overly involved.
When the story hour was over, Gabby returned some of her books to the shelves and ran into another little girl about her age. The girl smiled at her and Gabby smiled back.
Go Gabby, go!
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